


Camelot: Corvette

by duointherain



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M, Time Travel, bar brawl, car racing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duointherain/pseuds/duointherain
Summary: Two hundred years after A Wrench to the Heart.... Duo has, hopefully, perfected the time travel technology and to test it.. he has talked Mr. Anderson into going back to 1955 Earth with him.... and while there... Duo just happens to want to look for a 1955 Corvette... but there are so many other cars.. and what kind of trouble can he possibly get into in 1955 Kansas?





	1. Chapter 1

Camelot: Corvette 1/? 

By Max 

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

Note: This is set like a hundred years after A Wrench to the Heart. 

 

Mr. Anderson rubbed his eyebrow, squinting at Duo. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Duo tilted his head back, sighing dramatically. It didn’t stop him from moving little shapes around on the, setting the time travel portal for his experiment. “Oh come on, I’m sure the return will work. You talk about 1955 like it’s the best place ever. I’m sure I’m gonna love 1955!”

“Yeah... about that. I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he stressed again, scratching the back of his head with both hands. “Maybe we should talk to Heero first.”

“Look. If it works. We’ll be back in ten minutes, but we’ll have a whiskey at your favorite bar, spend a day fishing, ride a horse, and I can get me a look at a real 1955 Corvette! It it doesn’t work, we die and we’re back in five minutes, either way, you’ll be home by dinner. No issues.”

“Now, see,” Ernie said hands held up, “There aren’t a lot of Corvettes in Kansas.” 

Duo winked, then grinned, violet eyes glittering. “I ain’t never been to Kansas before. I’m sure there’s a Corvette around somewhere!” 

“Those’er kind of rare, Duo,” Ernie said, trying to explain the time he’d been a young man in to a man who’d been born long after Ernie should have been dead. He felt like he owed Duo more than he could ever repay, felt like he was like... like a grandson he’d never been able to have and he loved him, but Kansas and 1955 where a very long ago and far away place. It was a place where long haired boys with violet eyes who practised science liked wizardry while married to men ... well they didn’t just go looking under the hoods of other folks Corvettes, even if you could find them. “I think we should find another way.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Duo said, moving one last little piece into place on the big screen he was working on. “Just bare with me! Close yer eyes, take a deep breath, there, that’s good,” Duo said, coaxing, sweet, “See, now? That wasn’t bad at all, was it?” 

Ernie opened his eyes. His mouth dropped open. A Studebaker rumbled by on the road behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin, shoulders up, eyes looking funny. “Sweet Jesus on a cracker! This is Earth, 1955?”

“It is,” Duo said, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, “I brought you along so you can help me fit in, not so you can get our asses thrown in the loony bin straight away though, so like keep it together, uh?” 

“Oh god,” Ernie groaned. “Your hair. Why didn’t you cut your hair? It’s 1955,” he whispered.

“Ain’t cuttin’ mah hair,” Duo said as he pivoted on his heel and headed for the bar.

Ernie rushed after him. “You look 16 and you got hair to your waist! You can’t go in a bar, Duo, please. We can just... get your hair cut. You can regrow it when we get home.” 

“Ain’t cuttin’ mah hair,” Duo said, “But I always want a drink after a time jump, then I wanna look at all the car flesh around here! There’s cars everywhere! It stinks too.” 

“That would be exhaust. Don’t say ‘car flesh’. This whole trip is really about cars? Cars?”

Duo grinned brilliantly, all tooth and sparkling violet eyes. “Ah like cars.” 

“Sweet Jesus on a cracker,” Ernie said. “My Peter Pan likes to look at cars.”


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo gets his whiskey, and then some

Camelot: Corvette 2/?  
By Max

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing. 

 

 

The town looked like something out of a movie to Duo. Street lights were just turning on, flickering as unreliable filaments responded to primitive electricity. Yellow light fell into pool on concrete that was just irregular enough that it had to have been formed by human hands. For several seconds, Duo paused, staring at the sidewalk squares. Duo’s enhanced pattern recognition got caught up in tens of thousands of tiny details in the sidewalks, echoes of the human workmanship, artifacts of the days they were made, which gave Ernie time to lay an arm over his shoulders.

“So, seriously, Duo, if you want a whiskey, let me stop in at Charlie’s and I’ll get us a bottle. I’ll show you this place and we’ll finish that bottle! Then we’ll go over to King’s Fine Auto in Cranston and see if he can tell us who has a Corvette! How’s that?” Ernie did his best to give Duo back his own best let’s get in trouble grin. 

Duo pressed his tongue between his teeth and upper lip in an expression of not really buying it. “Chill on the hair, Ernst. I have a plan,” Duo said, slipping out from under his friend’s arm. He turned up the collar of his brown leather bomber jacket, which was when Ernie noticed that Duo was wearing the military jacket in the first place. 

“Oh god, you can’t wear that!” Ernie covered his face for a moment. “They didn’t even make that in your size! That’s like a woman’s size! Duo! WAIT,” Ernie pleaded, “You don’t understand how things are!”

Duo spun, his braid flaring out, arms out to the side, palms up. He winked, grinning brilliantly. “Come on, Ernie! It’s early evening on a Friday in August! We’re gonna have a whiskey with yer old friends and then move on. I mean, unless you really don’t wanna see yer old friends or something.” Duo came to a full stop, hands on his hips, he rubbed the side of his face for a moment. “Yeah, man, if you wanna just go to Charlie’s and stuff, we can do that. I didn’t mean to get you into something uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that,” Ernie said, pointing all his fingers at his chest, “My friends are down at the church.” He shifted, pointing a finger at the dark asphalt of the parking lot. “When I was young enough to walk these streets, Duo Maxwell, I was a Christian man. It’s just,” he said, his other hand touching his head then gesturing for emphasis, “You look like a woman or a little boy and I think they’re going to kick our asses.” 

Duo shrugged. “Welp, won’t be the first time. They could be cool. We won’t know till we go see.” 

Ernie gave him a long face, eyes blinking slowly. 

“WE could go down to da church, but it’s Friday night and dey ain’t got no whiskey.” 

“Those things are both true,” Ernie agreed. “I don’t see why we need to go into a bar...” 

Duo took the few steps back to his friend, reached up to put his arm across his shoulder, and get them moving, “Welp, somethin else church ain’t got... information on race cars.”

The inside of the bar was warm, smelled of cigarette smoke, beer, pine, so many things that Duo’s extra sensors were running overload to identify them and he just shut them down. Inside the bar felt different to him than outside the bar had, almost like it was a different world, freer, closer to home. 

There were only eleven people in the bar, three women and eight men, one of which was behind the bar. All of them were white, which seemed odd to Duo, unsettling in a surreal kind of way. He wanted to explore why that would be the case, but there were so many new things that he didn’t have time to think about them all and still walk around and talk like a seemingly sane adult. So he walked up to the bar, sat himself down on a stool, grinned nice and friendly at the dark haired bartender. His braid hung down past the stool, but most of the folk had already stopped looking at him, gone back to their own business. 

“What do you want, kid,” the man asked, without putting down the glass he was drying. 

“Whiskey, neat,” Duo said. 

“Really,” the bartender asked as he set down the glass, polished the counter for a moment, head tilted, looking Duo over really good. “You got money?”

“Yup,” Duo said, reaching inside his jacket to pull out a slender brown billfold. He pulled out a 5 dollar bill and handed it over. “One for my friend too.” 

The bartender snapped the money between his fingers, held it up to the bare light bulb, arched an eyebrow, but then shrugged and accepted it. He turned and looked at Ernie, “Whiskey for you too?” 

“Beer, please.” 

“So what brings you two into town,” he asked as he rung up their drinks and handed Duo back his change. 

“I’m Duo,” Duo said, “I’ve come to look at cars!” 

“I’m Walter,” Walter said as he set the shot and the beer down. “They ain’t got cars where you come from kid?”

“Not like yer cars,” Duo said, holding his shot, “I really wanna see a corvette. Do you know where I can find one?”

“Do I look like the phonebook to you?” Walter asked, not unfriendly, just unsettled by the bright eyed boy at his counter. “He your cousin or something Ernie?”

“Something,” Ernie said, sipping his beer like a man who really hadn’t reconciled himself to being in a bar. “I met him through a church experience,” Ernie clarified, which was as close as one might safely explain being taken to the future where you thought you were in heaven for several decades. It was a religious experience. 

Dark eyebrows drew down. “So you two are.. Missionaries? Looking to share the Good Word with hotrodders or something?” 

“I just wanna look at the cars,” Duo said. “I’m a pretty good mechanic.”

A girl, pretty, curly blond hair and gray eyes, a scarf over her hair pulled up next to him. She wore jeans, clearly cut for a man, but rolled up to fit her, and a pretty flowered shirt that she’d tied off at her waist. “So you’re a mechanic? How come you got all that hair, pretty boy?”

He turned on his chair, elbow on the counter and eyed her, the calluses on her hands, the tan lines on her face from goggles, slightly chapped lips. “My hair’s important to me. You understand when something’s important to you, right? I’m Duo.” He held out his hand to shake.

She hesitated for a moment, then stood up straighter, held out her hand and shook his with pride. “I’m Betty. Mr. Anderson, is this guy a good mechanic.” 

“Best mechanic I’ve ever met,” Ernie said honestly, “Do I know you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding, looking around Duo, “You taught me in Sunday School for nearly five years, Mr. Anderson! I’m Betty McCallister!” 

“It’s been a little while, Betty. I’m sorry,” he said, sheepish, and had another sip of that beer. 

“But you are certain, swear on the nails in Jesus’ hands that this here Duo is a good mechanic?”

“If you need something fixed, Miss Betty,” Ernie said, “No one can fix it better than Duo.”

“Do you want a job Mr. Duo?” She asked, lifting her chin. 

“Does said job involve fixing a car,” Duo asked wiggling his eyebrows.

“It does, a race car, that,” she paused for emphasis, ‘that I am going to drive. You got a problem with that?”

“Nope. Why would I? You want a drink?”

“I can buy my own drinks, Mr. Duo.”

“Fine by me. Can I get a root beer, please, Walter?” 

The big bartender was just finishing pulling a couple more beers. After that he pulled a bottle of cold root beer and popped the top, pouring it into a glass. Duo offered money, got more change. 

The next people through the door were very different kinds of people. They were also all white, but they were different - but Duo wasn’t entirely sure how they were different. Clothes to start with. They all seemed to be wearing similar sweaters colored sleeves and pale main bodies of them, some with big single letters. They all had similar hair cuts too. Duo had to remind himself it was too early in Earth’s history for there to be clones. 

They paused just inside the door, scanning for something. Duo decided they were some kind of pack hunter group and that was all very interesting and everything until they settled on his new employer and headed his way. 

She slipped off her stool and pointed at the pack leader. “You get out of here Dwight Evans! I don’t want anything to do with you!” 

“Betty,” the leader said. He was a red headed tall boy with broad shoulders and green eyes that looked at Betty and everything else like the world was full of puzzle pieces for him to sort to his liking. “You’re my fiancee now and your father’s worried about you, running around with low lifes like this.”

“Go to hell, Dwight. I’m not going home.” 

“I’m here to take you home, Betty. You’re a woman. You are not thinking clearly.” He moved towards her and she put up her fists, which slowed him down, but only because he started laughing.

Duo’s face twisted up, eyes darkening. Shinigami wasn’t like he was, but old habits die hard. He slipped out of his jacket, tossing it on the counter. This wasn’t his town, but he’d be law enforcement if he needed to be. “She said no,” Duo said clearly, in his most authoritative voice. 

“What the fuck are you,” Dwight hissed, sneering at Duo, “Her lesbian lover?”

“Well, if I were, at least I’d be someone she’d want, rather than a hulking wanna be rapist pig?” Duo said cheerfully. 

“NO fighting in my bar,” Walter snapped. “Dwight, Betty said she didn’t want to go. Just back off.” 

“I ain’t gonna be talked to this way! Not by a woman or a faggot or a bar keeper,” Dwight snarled. He reached out to shove Duo. Duo deflected the shove, channeling the energy into sending the larger man onto his ass. 

“You little shit licker! Parking lot!” 

Ernie was up then, trying to get Dwight’s attention, “Do you remember me? I’m Mr. Anderson! From Sunday School! You don’t want to do this, son!” 

Duo flexed his interlocked fingers, grinning crookedly, eyes dark, “Sure thing, Dwight. Lead the way!” 

Ernie followed along, trying to stop the coming fight. Betty went out the back. Walter pulled Duo’s wallet out, looked at his ID, found the tribal id, and decided to call an old friend on the local reservation. Big black phone tucked against his shoulder, he dialed the slow rotary phone, “Hey, Mack, yeah, this is Walter. Look, so there was this kid in the bar tonight, odd kid and I just thought, yeah, so he’s about to get his ass handed to him by Dwight and those idiots that follow him. No, don’t know him, don’t know where he came from, but his name is Duo and that sure as shit ain’t an American name. He’s got a tribal id card in his wallet that says he’s Cheyenne. How am I supposed to know what reservation he belongs on? I’m not Indian. If you want to get him home, you better come get him soon or he’s gonna be so much more lost blood, if you know what I mean. Yeah, yeah, no problem.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo and Dwight fight... Duo has him clearly outmatched... the switch blade does not intimidate him.. he just didn't see the baseball bat coming...

Camelot: Corvette 3/?  
By Max

 

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

 

Duo shrugged out of his coat. Gritty adrenaline amped through him, bright and vivid. A couple of the guys had broken off from the pack and slipped away into the evening. The rest of the group made half a circle around their leader. It was kind of like an human made theatre, Duo thought. Heero was the historian/anthropologist these days, studying humans, but Duo made a mental note to share that idea with him, about how humans hunt in packs. 

 

“Duo,” Ernie pleaded, “you’re too old for these kind of antics! You don’t really want to hurt these boys, do you?”

 

Duo scratched the edge of his ear, rubbed behind it, while wrinkling his nose. “But you hurt how he was speaking of my new employer. That kinda shit just pisses me off.” He dropped his jacket on the rough black asphalt, turned back to the clean cut college boy. Duo smirked evilly. “I can’t stand slavery. You talkin about her like you own her is tantamount to slavery, as far as I’m concerned, so I’m down with helpin ya out with a display of masculine dominance.”

 

“Those are some pretty big words for a greaser boy like you,” one of the chubbier followers sneered. 

 

“You’re cruzin fer a bruzin,” Duo said with a smirk. 

 

“No, just no,” Ernie said, a hand over half his face. “Just don’t even try with the slang.”

 

“What a couple of freams,” Dwight sneered. “Can you fight or are you really a girl?”

 

Duo rolled his eyes. “The last person who kicked my ass was a girl.” he said, thinking of Ang, before she’d come home and married his damn son. “If you can hit as good as she did I might haveta take an aspirin.”

 

Any hope of avoiding the fight evaporated as Dwight rushed him, punch already pulled back, which if it had hit, might have hurt. The rush seemed to go down in slow motion, which was an other benefit of being old as fuck sometimes. Somethings just aren’t as scary as they once were, but time leaves echoes too and a much younger Duo was standing there in the same place, all talk and terror, frightened of a fight he didn’t know he could win. For just a moment in his thoughts, he smiled at his younger self, wiggled his eyebrows, as if to say, ‘watch this’. 

 

The palm strike to the side of Dwight’s head knocked him sideways, while Duo slide one leg out in a low sweeping kick that more tripped the pretty college boy than landing another strike. While Dwight fell, Duo threw himself into a roll over the man’s back, spinning as he went so that at the other side, he put a hard knee in the man’s chest, lifting up just a little which put him at a perfect place for Duo to grab a handful of that neatly styled hair and pull him back, leaving Dwight on his knees, looking up at Duo’s smiling face. “The way AH see it is that a man hasta manage himself before he can go about managing other folk, ‘specally folk what don’t want to be managed by him. Now, this here ain’t the Rape of the Sabine women or nothing, so you leave that girl alone or Ah’m gonna rip yer testicles out yer nostrils. You ask Ernie if I won’t now.” Duo turned Dwight’s face in Ernie’s direction. “Go on, ask’im if I won’t do it.” 

 

Dwight’s eyes were wide with confusion and fear. “Uh... can...?”

 

“I did seem him do it once,” Ernie said, turning a little green, “He’s a good doctor and he put them back, but I don’t think they ever worked quite the same again.”

 

“But he’s just a kid,” the chubby one pointed out. A bit of metal on metal hissed as a switch blade opened up. “I don’t take shit from a kid.”

 

Duo leaned over and winked at Dwight and said, “And that’s why we don’t judge appearances. Should I hurt your boy or not?”

 

There was something all shocky about Dwight’s expression that made Duo wonder if he’d hit his head too hard. 

 

“Okay then,” Duo said. “Look, I just want to play with cars. I don’t really want to fight.”

 

That’s when the baseball bat took him in the back of the head. 

 

“Stop!” Ernie screamed. “Stupid hooligans! You don’t know what you’re doing.” He stood over Duo where he lay, holding his hands out like that was going to keep the boys from beating on Duo. 

 

A huge police car slowly lumbered into the parking lot, about the same time as a pick up came in the other side of the parking lot. All of Dwight’s boys ran for it. Dwight just plopped down on his ass, ran a hand through his hair and stared stupidly at the blood on the back on Duo’s head. 

 

“Alright!” A big police officer bellowed, “What the hell’s going on?”

 

A woman in maybe her mid-thirties, dropped out of the pickup. Dark hair, eyes, wearing jeans and a tunic top decorated with beadwork. “I’m here for one of ours,” she said, glaring at the officer. “And just in time too, by the looks of it. Your boys got no right doing this shit.” 

 

“You watch your mouth, Maggie. It ain’t proper. Well, Dwight? What’s going on?”

“We fought. I lost. Martin hit him in the head with a baseball bat. I have never seen anyone fight like that.” He looked up at the officer like he’d make things make sense, even though at that moment they weren’t making a whole lot of sense.

 

“Alrighty then,” the officer said, eyes squinting at the number one rich kid bully in town. “You,” he pointed at Ernie, “You related to Ernest Anderson?”

 

“Yeah,” Ernie said cautiously. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go down. When time traveling, the one that knows what’s going on should not get hit in the head with a baseball bat! All he knew was that he couldn’t actually wreck time and that when he died, he’d wake up at home on Camelot. How bad could things possibly be? 

 

“Fine,” Officer Thomas said with a sigh. “I don’t see any real harm done. Maggie, you take yours and I don’t want to see him in town again, or her. She’s lucky they didn’t haul her off behind the building. And you come with me,” he pointed at Ernie. “I’ll drop you off at the Anderson’s place. They’re out of town for a few more days, but their back door is always unlocked.” Looking at Dwight, his nose wrinkling in disgust, “You think you can drive yourself home or should I call your daddy for you?”

 

“He should go to see a doctor,” Ernie pointed out. He knew full well how hard he could hit if he wasn’t paying enough attention. 

 

“I’m fine,” Dwight said, looking for one man to the other, then down at Duo’s still not moving form. “Hitting doesn’t.. Make you a man.” 

 

“I’m calling your father,” Officer Thomas said, nose really wrinkling. 

 

“No,” Dwight said, shakingly getting to his feet. “See? I’m fine! I’m fine. Just a little knocked over. Just fell, that’s all.” 

 

“Alrighty,” Officer Thomas said suspiciously. “You sure that Indian woman didn’t hurt you?”

 

“I’m fine,” Dwight insisted, now just slightly taller than Officer Thomas and giving him an authoritative glare. “Nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

 

“Such bullshit,” Maggie growled, shoving Dwight aside. “As you’re so fine, help me get him to the truck.” 

 

“I got it,” Walter said, having joined them without anyone noticing. He had Duo’s coat over one arm and put his wallet in Maggie’s hand before picking Duo up in both arms. “Let’s get this over with before my regulars start coming in.” 

 

Maggie hopped up into the back of the truck and spread out an old green army blanket which Walter laid Duo out on. She squatted down, pushing bangs out of his face. “He’s pale. I hope he ain’t dying.” She caught his wrist in her hand, checking for a pulse. 

 

Walter closed the tailgate. “Maybe take him out to Doc Emmed. For a little extra, he’ll see Indians. You can tell him to send me the bill.” 

 

Maggie covered Duo up with the other half of the blanket. “We got it, Walter. Thanks for letting me know.”

 

Ernie watched her drive away, hoping he was doing the right thing. Doing the right thing was so much easier on Camelot where Galen could give you everything and Duo always had something to say.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ernie thinks about things

Camelot: Corvette 4/?

By Max 

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

 

Ernie left up the welcome mat and found the key that he’d left there. Still shiny, still brand new like he’d put it there two days before, which his younger self had, but for him, to pick it up now, it had been two hundred and fifty some odd years, for him it felt surreal. Walking into his house, it felt like there were echoes of him, his past self who wanted so badly to do what was right, to be a good man, to be worthy of the love of God - that man walked right next to the man who’d been taken five hundred years into the future, found out Heaven wasn’t real, accepted that God was a light in his heart, but maybe not in the world. 

But his house was the same, the blue rug from the dime store, the bowl of candy from his grandmother who still told stories about WWI - he picked up one of the candies, so small and oval, but connected to his grandmother, his wife, this life’s choices. 

So he stood there in the entry hall, that little candy held between his fingers. It was like he didn’t belong in his own house, his own life. 

It was Duo’s fault. It was all Duo’s fault!

The little candy disappeared into Ernie’s fist. 

Duo as arrogant, crazy, and selfish! Duo wanted cars. He wouldn’t give up his stupid ass hair! He’d say he was Native American and think that was okay! He was so arrogant, he couldn’t see how stupid he was!

Ernie stamped into the kitchen - then smirked. He’d feared that he’d left milk in the fridge when he went out of town. Spoiled milk was a sin, a waste, something that could have eased someone else’s life - wasted talents. With the refrigerator door open, he stared at the glass bottle of milk that he’d left rather than giving it to Mrs. Kerry, the neighbor to the south. He also remembered finding the bottle washed and on the counter when they got home. 

Grinning crookedly, he knew how that happened now. He dropped the candy into his pocket and took that bottle by the neck. 

And suddenly, he knew what else he wanted. On the second floor, outside his bedroom door that still smelled like his wife’s powder, smelled a little like laundry dried in the sunshine. He took a drink of milk, treating the bottle as if it were just a big beer bottle, and reached up to pull the attic ladder down. His heart couldn’t decide if it were slowing down or speeding up. His feet felt heavier as he neared the top. 

Duo Maxwell had everything easy. He fought a battle in a giant robot, fell in love with his one true love, and gets to live forever with him. He thought he was Peter Pan and never took anything seriously!

Rising into the attic, his heart decided that it was definitely going faster. He pulled the little metal bead light cord, bringing on an old incandescent bulb. There was nothing like the slightly unsteady orange light on Camelot. The light felt closer to memories of candlelight, old stone walls, thick red curls. 

He set his bottle down and went straight for the old green duffle bag he’d tucked back behind boxes of other stuff. Mouth dry, he started moving those boxes, not caring if he were interfering with time. Boxes of his wife’s stuff that she’d been saving as part of her dowry or some other strange concept, he shifted those boxes as if they were no more than unwanted snow in his way. 

The fabric of his bag was new, just the same as it had been, more vivid than any dream he’d ever had. Leaning close, he pressed his face to the rough green, and there was smoke, the faint tang of spent gunpowder, of spilled beer, maybe blood - there had been so much blood, but then maybe that was all his memory and not some bit of cast off stuff. 

Chewing his lip, he slipped open the luggage panel that was sewn to the side of the bag. Wrapped in the yellow of a folded up name tag, under his name, his identity, his address in his hometown, his father’s name, under all that righteous propriety where was a small black and white photo. It wasn’t black and white to him though. Red lips, smooth lipstick, curved lips, a tight jaw, face a little thin, and those thick auburn curls laying around her face, so soft and full, and her eyes, dark in the photo, but in his mind they were a golden brown, warm and welcoming, accepting of him in ways that made him feel like a human being. Constance. 

He squatted there, his face in his hand, strong fingers rubbing his eyebrows, his temples, his stomach swirling with a tempest he didn’t think he could stop. France was a different world. Paris was a different planet. Good little Baptist boys didn’t sleep with Parisian dancers. Good Baptist boys didn’t push their hips up against that warm lap straddling his, follow her home, sing her songs - Good American Baptist boys definitely didn’t lay in small candle lit attic bedrooms talking about sex until the sun pried its way in through the shutters and they definitely didn’t go running right back after their shift. They didn’t borrow Jeeps to slip out of the city to go on picnics with stolen wine and cheese. They really didn’t put their face between a French girl’s legs until she cried out in profane prayer. 

Good American Baptist boys came home to America, to Kansas, and they marry the woman they said they’d marry. They teach Sunday school every week for seventy years. He sank to his ass with a thumb, Connie’s photo in his hands, tears running down his face. He scrubbed at his face, and the time between putting her photo in his id tag and the hundreds of years later when he pulled it out, those years felt like a gaping wound, as if his life had never really moved forward after he’d gotten on that train. There she stood, on the platform, her hair limp, right toes turned inwards, her handbag hanging from her left hand, and he’d told himself that right was right and he had to. It was right. 

Except it wasn’t. 

He pressed her photo to his forehead and that tempest in his stomach rose up in him, roaring out in sobs for who he should have been, for all the light and warmth that he’d left and never found anywhere else. Everything else in the entirety of universe was not what she had been. He doubled over, holding her photo with both hands, his face pressed to the rough unfinished boards of the attic. 

“What are you doing,” Heero asked calmly, curious. 

Ernie’s eyes snapped open and he jumped, spinning, scrambling so his back was against the dufflebag, Connie’s photo held hidden behind both hands which were pressed to his heart. “Nothing, no, why do you ask?”

Heero was dressed in a suit and tie, looking like some lost diplomat. He held a small black leather bag like a doctor’s house call bag. 

It took the energy out of Ernie, all the rage, and he started laughing. 

Heero arched an eyebrow. “Have you ingested psychotropics?” 

“No, no, not at all, Heero. Tell me you’re not walking around town looking like that?”

Heero scowled. “What’s wrong with this? I thought I looked professional.”

“You look Japanese.”

“I am Japanese,” Heero said deadpan.

“Yeah? Well, we just finished a war with the Japanese. We put everyone that looked like you in a camp. You walking around looking all full of yourself is not going to go well, no better than Duo and his god forsaken braid.”

“Well, then,” Heero said, “we had best conclude my business as quickly as possible, had we not. Where is he?”

“How,” Ernie started, then smirked, “How the hell should I know?”  
Heero blinked. “Your attitude is out of character. It is imperative that I find him. He has a head injury that has damaged my tracking token. He has not died, but there are many risks, as you well know.” 

“Oh fuck,” Ernie said, then smiling as if he were just getting use to the taste. “Fuck me. Heero, why do you put up with him? He’s selfish, ignorant, and reckless.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Heero said calmly. “I told him though that bringing you here would have unforeseen repercussions, but he thought it was best.” 

“He didn’t bring me here for me,” Ernie snapped. “He brought me here to look for a Corvette because he wanted to see a car. He also put his ID down as Indian, so he didn’t have to cut his damn braid! He’s the most selfish person I can imagine!”

“You are mistaken,” Heero said, blue eyes glittering. “Where is he?”

“He got into a fight outside the bar. The locals took him. He’s probably out at the reservation,” Ernie said, “How can you possibly have so much faith in him?”

“For as long as I have known him, he has striven to protect people. How I got to be lucky enough for him to care about me as much as he does, I will never know. I was lost once,” Heero said. He set his bag down on the floor and found a spot to sit on one of the boxes. “When we were on The Rage,” Heero said, speaking calm and measured, “Someone desired me to love them so much that they were willing to rewrite my very mind to make that happen. In the insanity that followed, I killed many people. I created horrendous... I did bad things. He followed me down into madness and brought be back, even though he thought it would cost him my love. He saved me and he carries that scar in his mind, harboring the darkness I could not contain. I will trust Duo and follow him for so long as there are stars in the universe.” Heero held out his hand for whatever Ernie was hiding.

Feeling like a small child schooled by a wise old uncle, Ernie held out the photo. “She is Constance. I met her when I was stationed in Paris, at the end of the war.”

“You love her.” 

“I do.” 

“You want to stay and be with her.”

Ernie blinked, his hand moving to cover his mouth, as this impossible idea tried to settle into his mind. 

“You can, you know,” Heero said. “Duo thought there was something here that pulled you, keeping you from being whole.” 

“But.. I’m married.” 

“Just barely. She has applied for law school on L1.Artemis. She and Jacob both. Let her have her life too.”

“I’m... I’m tired of being a good Baptist boy,” Ernie whispered, taking her photo back. 

“Well, then, fuck it. Just be Ernie Anderson,” Heero said, smiling. “Ernie Anderson is a good man.” 

“I love her,” he whispered, as if it were the deepest sin. 

“Love is a great gift,” Heero said, “Come on. I need to find Duo, then I’ll get you passage back to France.” 

“Can I stay more than just.. Two weeks?” 

“You can stay for your life,” Heero said. “Duo trusts you.” 

As they walked out of Ernie’s house, his old life, he left the milk bottle drying on the counter, the key under the mat, the rules of the past on the pages he had long since read. 

Finally, he put the little candy in his mouth, found it to be some kind of strawberry mint and it was vile. He spit it out and left it in the gutter. “Heero! Wait! Did you bring a car? Oh god, you brought a bicycle? Really, seriously, oh god! You want me on the handlebars? Are you insane? No... seriously!?”


End file.
